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Whitney Leavitt is leaving “The Secret Lives of Mormon Wives.”

The reality star announced the news during her final performance of “Chicago” on Sunday. Leavitt has played tap-dancing murderess Roxie Hart in the Broadway revival since February. TMZ published a video of the moment, in which a Broadway castmate shows Leavitt a newspaper mid-scene. Leavitt, in character as Hart, points to the headline and reads aloud: “Whitney Leavitt announces she’s leaving ‘The Secret Lives of Mormon Wives.’” The audience is heard hollering and cheering.

Leavitt followed the big reveal with an Instagram video Tuesday morning and assured fans that, although the forthcoming season will be her last, she would still appear in Season 5 of the Hulu series.

“It’s honestly so crazy to me looking back on this journey, because I had been trying to get into theater, film, way before ‘Secret Lives’ even came into my life,” she said. “The reality show just fell into my lap organically and I said yes to it. It’s definitely not the path that I had envisioned in my mind to get to where I am today, but I wouldn’t change a thing. I have experienced so much with this group of women, and through that process, I have also learned so much about myself.”

Leavitt continued, saying that the “Mormon Wives” had been through so much together, including more extreme highs and lows than audiences have seen. “No matter what happens with our relationships, that is something that will always be a part of our life, that will always be a part of my life, and I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“The times I’ve walked away from ‘MomTok,’ it came from a place of anger and frustration,” she continued. “But this time, it’s significantly different, because I’m leaving with gratitude. I feel content. I feel like this is a chapter that’s closing in my life, and honestly, I believe that’s how it was always meant to be. I’m so grateful for ‘The Secret Lives of Mormon Wives.’ It’s gotten me where I am today. It’s given me the opportunities that you all have seen. But I’m ready. I’m ready for the next chapter. And I cannot wait to share with you guys what’s next.”

Much like her “Chicago” character, Leavitt’s place in the spotlight has come with less-than-favorable tabloid fodder. She told “Oprah Daily” that, although she doesn’t fully agree that she’s a series “villain,” she’s embraced her on-screen persona. She’s been candid about being a “very ambitious woman” and using “Secret Lives” as a launchpad for a career in Hollywood — and this isn’t the first time she’s departed the show.

“I had walked away from the show,” she told Gayle King about her brief hiatus after Season 2. “I wasn’t enjoying it anymore. I left the show, and then they were almost midway through the season, and I got a call from the producers, and they said, ‘If you come back, we know that you really want this opportunity to go on “Dancing With the Stars,” but the only way that you would get this opportunity is to come back and film.’”

Last year, Leavitt partnered up with pro dancer Mark Ballas and competed on Season 34 of “Dancing With the Stars.” She was eliminated in the semifinals, finishing in sixth place, but her “Cell Block Tango” performance impressed casting directors of the long-running Broadway production. One thing led to another, and the reality star was headed to Broadway.

Although Salt Lake City may not be known for the excitement synonymous with the Big Apple, Leavitt has plenty of drama to keep her busy back in production on “Mormon Wives.”

The show hit pause in March amid a series of domestic violence investigations involving stars Taylor Frankie Paul and her on-again, off-again partner Dakota Mortensen. The Salt Lake County district attorney’s office announced in mid-April that it would not be filing charges against Paul, and shortly after, the Hulu series said it would resume filming Season 5.

In the comments section of Leavitt’s Instagram video announcing her departure, Paul wrote, “You will be missed. Chase those dreams my girl. I’m excited to see your next chapter.”

Like most of his música mexicana contemporaries, Diego Millán, better known artistically as Calle 24, sang about the excesses of living the rock star life — the money, the cars, the booze and the women.

Since signing with Street Mob Records — the independent label founded by Fuerza Regida frontman Jesús “JOP” Ortiz Paz — in 2020, the singer-songwriter has been responsible for hits like “Que Onda, ” which featured labelmates Chino Pacas and Fuerza Regida. The trombone-laced earworm about a deboucherous tryst was a breakthrough for Millán, reaching No. 61 on the Billboard Hot 100 after it debuted in August 2023.

These days, the 23-year-old Chihuahua-born artist is dialing down the glitz, opting for songs that aren’t about living the luxurious life.

“Money brings more problems,” Millán tells me inside an Italian restaurant at the Americana at Brand, Glendale’s monument to opulent consumerism. “Because the more money you have, the more things you have to support.”

In April, Millán released “Eterno,” his fourth studio album. The 15-track LP largely forgoes the boisterous brass section that’s become a staple in the genre in favor of stripped-down tracks about being disillusioned with newfound wealth (“10 de mayo”), his mental health (the gritty “Si Me Ven”) and romantic heartbreak and anguish (“Solo”). He also touches on a topic that might be too taboo to discuss: Mexico’s widespread systemic relationship of organized crime (“El Sentrita”).

Millán says this is the most authentic he’s ever been in his music, something he attributes to moving back to Mexico, a country he believes is deeply misunderstood and has profoundlyshaped his personality.

“[Mexico] is filled with deep values, strong ethics and a profound sense of social understanding,” he said.

While música mexicana artists might feel compelled to move to the states in search of fame and fortune, Millán now finds freedom in his native country — and through “Eterno.”

“Now, I can be myself,” he said.

The follwing interview was conducted in Spanish, and has been condensed and edited for clarity.

In “Solo” you talk about romantic loneliness. Why was that vulnerability important to include in this album?

I prefer to approach those themes from a more grounded perspective. With that song, I wanted to really open myself up to that feeling and express regret, that sense of loneliness that comes with saying “I screwed things up.” I feel that’s how you establish a deeper connection with your audience. After all, so many people out there don’t have luxuries or material things like that so how do you get to them? With emotion. A feeling that expresses regret, including with the phrase: “I know I’m a piece of s—, but you know that I love you.”

It reminds me of Joan Sebastian’s “Un Idiota,” in which the singer admits he still loves the person he wronged, and that he knows he messed up.

That’s what I wanted to do too, talk about the human experience and what it is. I wanted people to listen to it as they’re drinking, and all of a sudden that wave of feelings just hits you like a slap to the face.

The song “Si Me Ven” talks about burnout and the idea that money isn’t as fulfilling as one might think. Did you base it out of your own personal experiences?

This song fits like a ring on my finger. They say that money won’t make you happy and it’s true. In my case, I spent five years without seeing my family and missed many things.

On Instagram, you told fans: “I feel like I am more human than artist, I hope you all can understand. Sometimes I wake up wanting to do nothing, or sometimes asking myself what am I doing? Where am I going?” Do you feel drained by this career?

Of course [being a successful musician] is my dream, but I didn’t know all that it would entail. To this day, it has been draining, and there’s some days where I don’t feel like doing anything because I’m more of a person than an artist. There are some colleagues that do live life as if it were a movie, but I’m more of a homebody.

How do you make sense of the industry where part of the allure is tied to wealth, fancy cars and material goods?

I obviously love cars. Any normal person would love those types of things. And when you work hard, of course you fill the gaps you had when you were younger. But I don’t like putting it in people’s faces.

You say this, but your “Eterno” album cover shows you with a stack of money.

[Laughs] But there’s something curious about that cover. I was feeling down that day, there was just a lot of sadness around that time. Yet there I am, surrounded by all that stuff and that’s where the clash lies, you know? That contrast is what gives my album cover its depth.

Let’s talk about “El Sentrita.” The song contextualizes organized crime as a systemic issue. What prompted you to write about this topic?

I wanted to frame it as social commentary, addressing what has been going on in Mexico for decades, as well as the obstacles we face as artists who aren’t allowed to express ourselves or certain themes through music. Just as we were discussing right now, rap used to be how artists delivered social commentary through the medium of music. I would like to do that as well.

I figured if the government tells me I can’t sing a corrido, then I’ll use a corrido to offer them some criticism instead. You have to pay close attention to follow the character’s storyline as it unfolds. At the end of the song, it hits you, none of this would have happened if someone would have given him a chance. The goal was to raise awareness, to show that there are so many dreams within [Mexico] but they need to be given the opportunity to pursue them so that they don’t end up on the wrong path.

The music video for “El Sentrita” shows how one young boy gets roped into organized crime. It feels less of a choice and more a result of the system. Tell me more about this decision to give dimension to the character.

That’s the question: Who is the victim in this system? The way I saw it was that he was a good person who fell in with bad people and ended up becoming a bad person himself. If we look at it from a different angle, one where you don’t judge whether a person is good or bad, he was simply someone operating in that world out of necessity.

That’s when you have to question yourself and ask: how can we call someone a bad person when society leaves them with no other choice. I also wanted to do this to show young people that life in that world isn’t easy. Society right now is deeply damaged. This new generation of youth needs a lot of attention.

There is a phrase at the end of the song where you say, “You don’t sing about what you do, you sing about what you see.” What did you mean by that?

Because it’s not like we’re out there doing those things, you know? We aren’t engaging in any kind of criminal activity whatsoever. We simply sing, literally, about what we see, about what goes down in [Mexico] every single day. Because it’s not just some isolated incident; it’s something that happens constantly — day in, day out, without fail.

When my husband and I bought our home, my dad recommended that I avoid sharing the name of our new city.

“Don’t tell people you’re in Goleta,” he said with a smirk.

I grew up in Santa Barbara, and despite my proximity to the little ag town of Goleta just 10 miles north, I knew little about it. But after enjoying its relaxed vibe, wide-open spaces and tight-knit community, I realized what I’d been missing.

Goleta might not have the glitz of its more famous neighbor, the one Angelenos frequently visit for its picturesque palm tree skyline, Spanish architecture and coastal resort vibes, but it deserves its own spotlight. And it’s been getting one lately: Goleta’s Monique Limon is making waves in the California Senate, the Austrian national soccer team will call the city home for the FIFA World Cup 2026, a renovation of the Ritz-Carlton Bacara welcomed chef Danny Grant’s new restaurant Marisella, and the debut of a full-scale train station is expected by summer.

Still, it can feel like there are more acres of walnut and lemon groves in Goleta than people — that’s part of the charm. Called the Good Land, a nickname pulled from obscurity by the late historian Walker A. Tompkins, Goleta largely remained dedicated to farming well into the 1900s. The city itself didn’t incorporate until 2002, though UC Santa Barbara had made Goleta its home 50 years earlier and the Santa Barbara Airport technically sat on Goleta land.

“We are a very young town and the longtime locals still have a very rural mindset,” says small business owner and lifetime Goleta resident Tom Modugno.

I’ve come to appreciate the blend of agricultural history and buzzy new developments in Goleta, but more than that, I love the small-town feel and running into friends wherever I go. That might be on the trails alongside the beach at Ellwood Mesa Open Space, at the new beachfront restaurant the Ellwood, at Lake Los Carneros while freshwater fishing or at the outdoor dining hall featuring local restaurants like On the Alley and Los Agaves. This list of great things to do is nowhere as comprehensive as it gets, but I hope it shows you a bit of why I’m proud to call Goleta home.

It’s officially May, which means summer vacation season is upon us. If you’re planning a trip to the beach, just make sure it’s got cell service (don’t say we didn’t warn you).

This week, Apple TV released the first two episodes of “Widow’s Bay,” a horror comedy that takes a closer look at those cozy seaside vacation towns and what might be beneath the surface. Katie Dippold, the creator of the series, which stars Matthew Rhys, Stephen Root and Kate O’Flynn (Jeff Hiller, one of my faves, also has a nice supporting role), stopped by Guest Spot to talk more about the genesis of the show and why it bends genres — more on that below.

Also in this week’s Screen Gab, we recommend a documentary film (and an animated short) that looks at the musical legacy of the King of Pop, and a recent docuseries about the FLDS community. — Maira Garcia

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Recommendations from the film and TV experts at The Times

Quincy Jones, left, Michael Jackson and Lionel Richie in Netflix’s “The Greatest Night in Pop.”

(Netflix/Courtesy of Netflix)

‘The Greatest Night in Pop,’ ‘Sing: Thriller’ (Netflix)

I don’t know whether the release of “Michael,” the Michael Jackson biopic, had anything to do with “I Want You Back,” the greatest single of all time, playing in my dentist’s office today, but MJ is definitely in the air, posthumously pelleting us with his fantastic music and permanently controversial self. Somewhat in that spirit, I offer Bao Minh Nguyen‘s 2024 documentary “The Greatest Night in Pop,” about the recording of the 1985 super-duper star charity single “We Are the World,” co-written by Jackson and Lionel Richie and featuring the oddest assortment of singers ever to be gathered into a single studio — a congregation including Tina Turner, Bob Dylan, Steve Perry, Huey Lewis, Stevie Wonder, Willie Nelson, Dionne Warwick, Cyndi Lauper, Ray Charles, Bruce Springsteen and Harry Belafonte, among others. (Richie, Springsteen, Lauper, Lewis and Sheila E. sit for new interviews.) Jackson fans will get a glimpse of him at work like a normal musician, albeit one dressed as the General of Neverland. Dylan watchers will see a fish far out of water. Local historians will enjoy footage of L.A. in the ‘80s. On another, quite delightful note, “Sing: Thriller,” also from 2024, is a 10-minute cartoon take on Jackson’s video of the same name, starring the cast of the “Sing” movies, zombified and, naturally, dancing. — Robert Lloyd

Christine Marie in Netflix’s “Trust Me: The False Prophet.”

(Netflix)

‘Trust Me: The False Prophet’ (Netflix)

Mormonism has been under the spotlight lately, with reality series and documentaries taking a closer look at the religious group. But one particular sect, the Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, has long come under scrutiny for its practices and allegations of cult-like behavior, child marriage and child sexual abuse. This four-part series from director Rachel Dretzin is a continuation of her work documenting the FLDS community (she previously directed 2022’s “Keep Sweet: Pray and Obey,” also for Netflix). It follows cult expert Christine Marie and her husband Tolga Katas, who moved to Short Creek, Utah, where the community previously led by Warren Jeffs, the former FLDS leader and convicted felon, is based. Marie befriends the women in the community, gaining their trust, only to find out that another man, Samuel Bateman, is claiming to be a prophet. What she uncovers is a web of abuse and crimes. The series is riveting and disturbing, culminating with Bateman’s arrest and eventual conviction. — M.G.

Guest Spot

A weekly chat with actors, writers, directors and more about what they’re working on — and what they’re watching

Matthew Rhys and Stephen Root in Apple TV’s “Widow’s Bay,” now streaming.

(Apple)

Have you ever taken a vacation to a nice place but then see or experience something that just feels off? Apple TV’s new series, “Widow’s Bay,” tries to capture some of that feeling, where a seemingly quaint town hides dark secrets.

Matthew Rhys plays Tom Loftis, the mayor of Widow’s Bay, an island 40 miles off the New England coast. He’s attempting to save the region from economic slump — there’s no WiFi, cell phone service is spotty, the streets need repaving — by trying to make it a tourist destination. He manages to get a New York Times travel writer to visit, who writes a story that seems to turn the town’s fortunes. But much to Tom’s chagrin, the locals — particularly Wyck, played by Stephen Root — say the island is cursed and it has been awakened to unleash a “haunt.”

Creator and showrunner Katie Dippold’s fascination with such places began at an early age, growing up in New Jersey, where her family would take trips to the shore. She began writing the series more than 10 years ago, and it’s evolved over the years. “Believe it or not, this was originally a ‘Parks and Recreation’ sample for me when I got that writing job,” says Dippold, whose writing credits also include “The Heat” and “Ghostbusters.” “But it was very different, it was more comedic.”

While the show incorporates some comedic elements, it very much has moments of horror and dread that might make you gasp when something unexpected happens. Some of that feeling is thanks to director Hiro Murai (“Atlanta,” “Mr. & Mrs. Smith”), who directed the first three episodes and the final two. “Sometimes it’s like a ‘blink and you miss it’ kind of moment, which I love for this show,” Dippold says, even if it meant losing some of the humor they’d written in the scripts.

The creator spoke over a video call to dissect the characters and series, and explained whether or not we would see Willy the clown from Episode 2 again. This conversation has been edited for length and clarity. — M.G.

You’ve worked on a number of comedic projects, and this show has comedy elements. But horror is definitely a part of this show. Have you always been into horror, and why mash up these genres?

I’m a comedy writer, first and foremost, but I’m also the biggest horror fan. I like watching horror more than I like watching comedy. I just wanted to try to create a world where you could play with both of those things. But I should say that I actually don’t like most horror comedies. The ones that do it well are some of my favorite movies, like “American Werewolf in London,” “Cabin in the Woods” or “Shaun of the Dead,” and even the three of those are very, very different.

Especially in a TV show, I didn’t want it to feel like constant horror and dread. I like having those moments with a surprise laugh … or just something completely absurd. But, to that point, it was also a constant tonal tightrope walk from beginning to end because … I never wanted to undercut the tension. As a horror fan, I wanted to take it very seriously, and so that was a challenge from the scripts to production to casting to the edit to the score, just every step of the way.

The show is set in a small island town that’s trying to become the new “it” destination — comparable places like Bar Harbor, Maine, and Cape Cod are mentioned — except the townsfolk say it’s cursed. What about these communities intrigues you and why set the story in that location?

I grew up in New Jersey, and I always loved going to the Jersey Shore, and I always talk about this haunted house on the boardwalk that I used to always go to, and I just love that seaside haunted house vibe. I think I always romanticized it … that atmosphere is my dream. A couple years ago, I went to a diner in Marblehead, Mass., and it’s called the Driftwood, and it was just so perfect … in the sense that it was so cozy and lived in. You could see the ocean outside. It was a gray, cloudy day and there was a cemetery that was not that far away. There’s something about it that I found so special, and I never wanted to leave that place. And so I just wanted to get that feeling and get it on the screen.

Unique places have unique people like Wyck, who is trying to warn Tom about the fog that’s rolled in. Wyck is an oddball — every town seems to have one. Was that rooted in anyone or anything?

I was just trying to think of who would be the best thorn in Loftis’ side, and Stephen Root is so great at everything he does, and he’s so funny, but then so heartbreaking the next. When I was young, my dad had his drinking buddies, and Wyck doesn’t seem that far off from that kind of person, so I kind of relate to that. He represents the voice of the people of the islands, the real islanders, the real locals that take it all very seriously, and so he’s just the constant menace to Loftis.

And poor Tom is so practical. He’s worried about keeping the town afloat and literally keeping the lights on. But he also kind of believes the stories. How does this character and his contrasts help illustrate the story?

I think Loftis, in the beginning of the story, is at a place of determination and optimism. He cannot accept that this is his life and he cannot accept that this is the life of his teenage son [Evan, played by Kingston Rumi Southwick]. So he’s really trying to bring what he can to the island through tourism and what that would do for the town. But there’s some stuff that he needs to reckon with — he will throughout the season. I think I can be very optimistic, and so when you learn the hard truths of life, I always take that very hard myself.

Is this related to his wife being dead?

I think that’s a huge part of it. There’s a lot of what happened with his wife that he hasn’t fully reconciled. There’s stuff he needs to come to terms with … if he keeps repressing it, it’s just going to destroy him.

You set some ground rules or parameters of the world we’re in: First the quake, the fog and so forth. How did you come up with it?

In the writer’s room, we spent so much time thinking of the history of this town and different eras of leadership. …Because the more that we fleshed out this world since 1681, the funnier it was to us when something would pop out that’s ridiculous, you know what I mean? Like, then the ludicrous is more fun, if everything else feels real. It’s so important that you buy everything that’s happening, because it’s very easy to go off the rails. Once you start not buying it, it’s very hard to get back to ever feeling the tension.

The other thing I would say about the mythology, the rules … Loftis could dismiss it. Like the examples the [New York Times] reporter gives at the restaurant [of islanders going to the mainland and dying], those are weird. It’s weird that those things happen to people, but it’s also not like they all went on a boat and blew up. It’s just weird enough that I know I would take it seriously but still murky enough to give a little bit of room for Loftis to dismiss it and not be a complete lunatic.

They’re plausible enough to have happened.

But deep down, I think it scares him very much and that’s why he’s putting in all the effort.

In Episode 2, we see Willy, a creepy, fast-moving clown. Will we see him again?

Oh, possibly. Because I think for some things on the island, if you’ve heard about it before, it’s existed before and it’s come back, so it’s probably not completely gone.

Hiro Murai directed the first three episodes and he has a couple more at the end of the season. I feel like we see his stamp on the show. Was he someone you wanted to work with? How did he help bring your vision to life?

He was my dream director for it because I love “Atlanta” so much. I think Hiro is so fantastic at creating a very grounded world, a grounded scene and then still surprising the hell out of you with some absurd moment.

“Atlanta” was very inspiring to me. I had written this long before, and I was rewriting throughout the 10 years or so. But TV changed in the process, from the time I wrote the pilot to now, and that was very helpful. I think he’s so good with specifics and little nuances, and we have a very similar sense of humor. … I just knew this show would never be corny if [Hiro] was directing it.

Last thing, what are you watching right now that you’d recommend to others?

I’m rewatching “Game of Thrones” [HBO Max]. Me and my boyfriend … make breakfast every Saturday morning and rewatch an episode from the series. And it’s such a fun rewatch because the first time, I had not read the books. It’s so fascinating to rewatch again, now that you understand what the hell is happening.

I’m also watching “Hacks’” [HBO Max] final season, which I always love. In terms of movies … we were in production and then I was in post, so I didn’t get to see a ton of new stuff, but I loved “Weapons” [HBO Max]. I know it’s now a year old … but that’s my honest answer.

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Bailey Zimmerman performed Friday night at Stagecoach, where his set mixed post-grunge country hits like “Religiously” and “Where It Ends” with a cover of Miley Cyrus’ “The Climb” and an appearance by BigXthaPlug on their duet “All the Way.” Before Zimmerman’s set, I met with the 26-year-old singer inside a denim-bedecked pop-up presented by American Eagle, for whom Zimmerman serves as an official spokesbro.

Did you only agree to become an American Eagle ambassador because you thought you might be able to meet Sydney Sweeney?
I would understand why you would think that. But honestly, no — it was a full circle moment in my life. Before my American Eagle deal, I had all the American Eagle underwear. They couldn’t send me new ones — I had ’em all.

Do you get free jeans?
They give me everything for free.

Could you get me some free jeans?
Maybe? I could do one of those things where I’m like, “Oh, it’s for me,” but it’s really for you.

By my count, this is your fourth Stagecoach in a row.
Yep.

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You never miss this, bro.
It’s my favorite time of the year — it’s sick. I come out here the whole weekend. The first year, I brought my best friends, and we’ve done it every year since — all my friends and their fiancees now because we’re getting older and they’re getting married. So it’s just a big party all weekend. It’s something I look forward to.

Speaking of getting married, last year you you told me you were looking for a wife. Any progress?
Well, you know, honestly, I’m still just kind of doing my thing. I’m on God’s timing, truly —I’m just letting it roll.

You’re a Justin Bieber guy.
Beliebe it.

“Swag” or “Swag II”?
I was hesitant to want to listen to “Swag II” because I love “Swag I” so much. But then once you get into “Swag II,” it’s like, Dude, this is so fire, bro. Both albums are so fire — I’ll listen to either one.

Did you watch Bieberchella?
Yes!

What did you think of the YouTube of it all?
I thought it was really cool. I loved it — it was just something way different. I’ve never seen that done like that. Iconic — I would call it iconic. That’ll go down in history.

Bailey Zimmerman on Stagecoach’s main stage.

(Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times)

You have a current radio hit, “Chevy Silverado.” What was your first truck?
A 2005 white Chevy Silverado. That’s what the song’s about.

Yes, of course. But I didn’t know it was true to life — I thought you were using writerly inspiration.
No, true to life, man. My grandpa had a 2005 crew-cab short-bed Chevy Silverado, and I bought it off of him. I had to borrow money from my bank in my hometown, and I bought it of him because times weren’t good at the time. When the used car dealership was going good, maybe he would’ve given it to me, but at that time, it wasn’t going good, so I had to borrow money and have a payment at the bank. Adult things.

You know where that truck is now?
I still have it. Honestly, I didn’t think anybody would resonate with the song — I didn’t think anybody would listen to it just because it was so personal to me. Every single line is a real life story from my life, so to see it resonating with everybody and seeing it do what it’s doing — it’s so cool, man.

Jonnie Park has always gone by many names. The most Google-able is his hip-hop moniker “Dumbfoundead,” which he’s gone by for decades as a seasoned battle rapper and an artist who’s put out a jaw-dropping 13 albums while becoming one of the kings of legendary Leimert Park hip-hop crew, record label and open mic Project Blowed. As a resident of L.A.’s Koreatown since childhood, he’s still known as “The Mayor of K-town.” To his friends, he’s just “Dumb.” Of all the aliases and titles he’s fought for, “author” might seem to be the most unlikely. But as a professional when it comes to producing scathing hot bars in battle raps, it felt only right to put his journey down the warpath of rhymes on paper in his debut memoir “Spit: A Life in Battles,” released April 14 on Third State Books.

The memoir (which includes a foreword by Park’s longtime friend, R&B star Anderson .Paak) recounts razor-sharp memories starting from childhood, including the harrowing story of his family’s immigration from Argentina to L.A. when he was 3. He talks frankly about the perils and prejudice of growing up Korean American in Southern California and thrusting himself into the hip-hop scene, where, after stumbling in as an outsider to Black culture, he ultimately found his voice on stage. It speaks to the foundation that later served him well as an actor, podcaster, comedian and recently TV writer for season 2 of the hit show “Beef.” But he says his reputation as a battle rapper is the one that will always matter most.

Recently Park spoke to the Times about the hardest parts of writing his new memoir, the importance of Project Blowed and taking his underground rap mentality with him from the gutter to the stars.

For your memoir you purposely take the parts of your life from childhood until about age of 30, the peak of your hip-hop career. What was it like to go back and take that journey again?

To me, it’s always kind of the core of who I am. Even as a multi-hyphenate, I always say I’m first and foremost a battle rapper. It was such a pivotal moment at a time in my life and I take that label with me wherever I go, so it doesn’t feel too distant. But to actually be in that arena feels very distant. I look back and I just think about the audacity of a young Asian kid in that world. I’m just like “Wow, I really had the balls to do this at one point.” And I still love the subculture of battle rap. It’s something I’m a part of and a story that I want to tell in all these other mediums — whether it’s screenwriting or developing a TV show, I still feel like there’s a lot to be done with that subculture.

Why was it important for you to help your readers learn about the technical aspect of battle rap and what it takes to be a battle rapper?

There’s a lot more layers to it than people know. Obviously we know Eminem’s “Eight Mile” was the height of the story of where battle rap got to, and it did a great job of that. Obviously it’s been many years since then. But I also wanted to let people know that the people involved in this subculture aren’t just in poverty trying to make it out and get on a record label. This is a real subculture that people obsess over and I just wanted to find an excuse to nerd about it and also teach people this kind of new era of battle rap. I also highlight some of my peers really deserved it, and including the open mic I went through called Project Blowed. That’s the one thing I love about this book is that I can immortalize some of my personal heroes and places that I hold dear to my heart.

But mechanics of how our brains work when freestyling is something I find interesting. People always ask me “How do you guys freestyle or battle?” And I was really nervous about explaining it. I just didn’t know how I would do that. I had the help of my co-author, Donnie Kwak, who I’ve known for many years. He’s never written a book either, but he’s just kind of like a big brother to me and we’ve had many conversations about this. So being able to break that down was really cool for me. And I still really love that chapter about freestyling and battling for dummies.

Dumbfoundead’s memoir “Spit” chronicles his rise through underground battle rap, offering deeper insight into the subculture.

(Lenne Chai)

What was it like for you as you were discovering your voice through open mics at Project Blowed?

Project Blowed freed such a big part of me. I think when I saw the other rappers there, and they were taking [rapping] to heights I never imagined, the styles of raps that I would see here, from there, were so unorthodox. At that point, I was listening to everything on the radio along with mix tapes and stuff. But this was not even that. This wasn’t even like the underground mix tapes. It was the most raw and purest form of rap. It was so weird and abstract, even for me, just the young Korean kid at the age of 14 that hadn’t gone south of Pico Boulevard, growing up on Third Street, and all of a sudden I’m on 43rd. It was like another world for me. Next thing I know, I’m immersed in this world where there’s black kids that are into anime, punk rock and rapping their a— off. And I’m like, “This is insane!” So it did a lot for my perception of everything, more than just hip-hop.

Why was it so important for you to kind of showcase your Korean from not only the standpoint of a rapper but also as a writer?

Definitely the Korean American part was very important to me, because we see Korean culture, Korea especially being this global powerhouse, and what we know of it is the “Squid Games,” and the K-Pop of it all. And so I did want to share this more in the perspective of a Korean American. Even more specifically, in Southern California, in Los Angeles, there is a different vibe of Asian American life than the rest of the country. I’m the epitome of that. A lot of our parents have these wholesale businesses downtown or dry cleaners or liquor stores. Growing up in K-town, a lot of Korean families have a dad who’s an alcoholic, and there’s a lot of domestic violence situations. I think through my story, a lot of people will see themselves in these situations.

Jonnie Park, a.k.a. Dumbfoundead, writes in his memoir about growing up in Koreatown.

(Third State Books)

I think it also just speaks to all the different layers of struggle, battles that you and your family have gone through. Were there any aspects of this book that were really challenging for you?

The hardest part was definitely writing about my father, and knowing that this book is going to be out in the public because it’s so revealing. There’s affairs, there’s businesses that he worked at that are named. These families do exist — I grew up with that family that my dad had an affair with. I don’t talk to them or anything, but it’s all in the book. And I did want to be honest, I just felt like this is a place to do it if I’m going to do it. I don’t know if my dad will read it, but if it ever got translated into Korean, he’s definitely reading it. I still don’t have a great relationship with my father and I just feel like there wasn’t, there’s not much of a closure to that still. And maybe the book will help open up some new conversations between him and I. So that part was a little difficult, and also talking about some of the domestic violence in my house. Growing up with my dad and my mom, it made me feel for my mom a lot.

The beginning and the end is the most difficult part, because the end really discusses kind of like that insecurity as an artist, and where I’m at in my life as an artist, seeing a lot of my friends becoming extremely successful. I really wanted to be honest about that. The book doesn’t necessarily end with me being triumphant and feeling at ease.I still feel that as an artist, and I think that’s why it’s just an ongoing battle.

Describe what that’s like having come out of that underground rap scene and showing your skills to the world in TV and film while holding on to that underground mentality.

Even being in a writer’s room for “Beef” Season 2 — that was my first writer’s room — felt like a cypher. Knowing when to jump into the conversation at the right time, and knowing when to fall back. That just tells you that the skills that I acquired from freestyling and battle rap, I was able to take into the real world and apply it in so many different places.

I think it’s so interesting that I got that “Beef” Season 2 gig because the showrunner and the creator of the show really loves my perspective on Asian American culture on my podcast [“Fun With Dumb”], just based off of that. I got to a place in my life where I just felt very comfortable being vulnerable and self-deprecating through all the things I’ve done in battle rap. I was able to apply it to podcasting, too. And to have that humor and wit and that vulnerability, that comedic sense that I’ve acquired from battling and freestyling, one thing just led to the other. I still have the same kind of slate of stories and ideas that I’ve been trying to get made for many years. That includes stories on battle rap, K-town and being Korean, American. Those are always kind of the things I take with me to whatever I’m trying to make right now, and maybe once I make those, I can move on, but I’m still working on that.

“Gambrel roofed Barnhaus,” the listing read, “next door to the best burritos in town.”

Its photos revealed something unusual for Inglewood, which is famous for its mix of architectural styles, including Midcentury Modern homes by R.M. Schindler and Googie-style coffee shops: a brick-red barn-style house on a large corner lot, listed at $449,000.

When Meeshie Fahmy and her husband, Aaron Snyder, toured the house, they learned that the burrito claim was true. The photos, however, had clearly been touched up to make the house, located just a few miles from the Kia Forum and SoFi Stadium, look better than it actually was.

Outside, the former dirt lot is now a lush garden with towers of colorful black-eyed susans on arches, planters full of nasturtiums and vegetables, a firepit and pergola.

Inside, the house had “wall-to-wall carpets on both floors that were heavily stained and worn, dated wood paneling on the walls, holes in the walls,” Fahmy says.

Despite these flaws, the couple saw the home’s potential and decided to buy it, even though a leaning retaining wall nearly derailed their escrow. “It was a blank canvas for us to play and experiment,” she recalls a decade later.

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After they moved in, neighbors revealed the house was not original to the site. Years earlier, the original Craftsman had been torn down; the current house, a sweepstakes prize, arrived in two pieces by crane. “Our neighbors recalled it was quite a sight,” Fahmy says.

At the time, Fahmy, 44, worked as an event planner at the Getty Museum. As renovations started and she followed her passion for interior design, Snyder proudly introduced her to staff at the local Carniceria as “an interior designer.” She replied, “That’s not what I do.”

“I told her, ‘If you don’t start saying it, it’s not going to happen,’” says Snyder, 49, who pursued his own dream of becoming a professional skateboarder before moving into video editing. “Speak it to existence.”

Finishing the house took years, patience and a lot of DIY projects because of their budget. But Fahmy didn’t just dream — she made it happen. In 2018, she started working for interior designer Willa Ford, who mentored her at WFord Interiors. By 2020, Fahmy launched her own design firm, Haus of Meeshie. “It’s been a progressive layering of colors, furniture, reupholstering, adding art, wallpaper, lighting,” she says. “Low and slow; the flavor is richer.”

Meeshie Fahmy and Aaron Snyder’s family room is a colorful maximalist dream with thrifted furnishings, art and layered textures and patterns.

Ninety percent of the furnishings are thrifted. “Nothing is too precious,” Fahmy says.

Today, their home reflects Fahmy’s fearless approach — it’s a true “petri dish for experimentation.” The vibrant, layered four-bedroom house is a maximalist fever dream, packed with furniture, accessories and art sourced from Facebook Marketplace, vintage shops, flea markets (Long Beach flea is a favorite), estate sales and secondhand stores in L.A. and elsewhere.

She estimates about 90% of the furnishings and accessories in her home are thrifted, antiques or things she found on the side of the road, and nothing is too precious, reaffirming her playful approach to decor.

A Jonathan Adler dining table, found on sale, sits in front of a wall filled with art arranged salon-style. Among the pieces is Fahmy’s favorite: a wedding portrait her father, Walter Fahmy, painted of her.

The speakeasy features a vintage standing bar from Craigslist, barstools and a Geo pendant light by Los Angeles designer Jason Koharik and a mirror Fahmy found at a neighborhood estate sale.

She likes to refer to her decorating style as “creatively unhinged.”

“It all flows,” she says, curled up with her dogs on a CB2 couch she found on Craigslist. “There’s a rhythm. Every piece tells a story. Pick one — I’ll share it.” She recalls throwing herself on a vintage Baker sideboard at a Florida Goodwill without knowing how she’d get it back to Los Angeles and laughs when Snyder discovers a tiny Jack Black-as-Jesus portrait tucked into a gilded dining-room oil painting.

The sink and vanity in the guest bathroom? That used to be a dresser she found on Craigslist.

Although others have questioned their home purchase, Fahmy never doubted they could transform the space into something special.

Color ties the house together. The powder room is purple, the entry hall is red, the kitchen has blue cabinets and the hallway is painted pink.

“When I first saw the house, when they bought it, I thought she was crazy,” Meeshie’s friend and former colleague, Talene Kanian, says in an email. “Other than keeping the ‘barn’ shape, she completely transformed the interior. Now, when you step inside, you’re welcomed into a home full of color, pattern and playfulness.”

Snyder adds: “Meeshie is able to visualize things 10 steps ahead of everyone else, even things that seem like a complete mess.“

Working together, the couple removed the shag carpeting and wood paneling from the first floor and the stairway, installing drywall in their place.

Next, they painted the walls — no beige here. The deep green living room sets a bold scene: a clock worthy of Dalí, leopard prints, pink Persian rugs, a snake ottoman and a thrifted tufted chair with Art Deco vibes from CB2.

“I did not venture into interior design formally,” Fahmy says. “I feel very lucky to have found this passion.”

The color story flows through the house: The powder room is purple, the entry hall red and the dining room walls pink, with one wall in a bold 1970s-style mushroom-pattern wallpaper from Londubh Studio. The speakeasy features a vintage standing bar from Craigslist that Snyder squeezed into his car, barstools and a Geo pendant light by Los Angeles designer Jason Koharik and a mirror Fahmy found at a nearby estate sale.

In the kitchen, they removed the 1970s-era wooden cabinets and Formica countertops, replacing them with more pink walls, Moroccan-style tile flooring and blue cupboard fronts from Semihandmade, which creates cabinet doors for IKEA cabinets.

Fahmy painted a Keith Haring-style black-and-white mural at the top of the stairs and continued onto the second-floor walls using a paintbrush taped to a broomstick. She finished by painting the handrail bright blue and wrapping each stair with a Persian-style runner.

Outside, the couple leveled the once-dirt backyard, added pea gravel, built a pergola with a handyman and installed a firepit where they enjoy entertaining their friends.

The main bedroom features burgundy walls, while the bathroom next to it has Persian rug-patterned wallpaper from House of Hackney.

Now the once-empty backyard is a lush garden: towers of colorful black-eyed susans on arches, planters of nasturtiums and homegrown vegetables. A trickling fountain greets visitors as they walk through the French doors. Snyder, an avid cook, can easily step out to cut fresh herbs mid-simmer, making the outdoors a true extension of the home.

The couple’s home is full of memories, and as you walk through, you can sense how much their stories matter to them. In the downstairs hallway, Snyder smiles as he points out photos of his family in Wisconsin. Similarly, Fahmy proudly shows a photo of her great-great-grandmother Theresa “Tessie” Cooke Haskins, a noted harpist whose daughter Maud Haskins was the first harpist to perform with the orchestra at the Hollywood Bowl.

Art is everywhere, from the Polaroids pinned to the walls in the powder room to the ceramics and masks hanging throughout the house. Yet Fahmy’s favorite possession is deeply personal: a portrait of her on her wedding day, painted by her father, Walter Fahmy, who studied art in Egypt before coming to America.

Upstairs, Fahmy created a black-and-white mural inspired by Keith Haring at the top of the stairs, then kept going along the second-floor walls using a paintbrush taped to a broomstick. She finished by painting the handrail a bright blue and wrapping each stair with a Persian-style runner.

French doors connect the house to the garden, so the backyard feels like a natural part of the home.

For Fahmy, these details matter. “I feel like our home is a love letter to my upbringing,” she says, referring to her parents, who were both pharmacists. “It’s an ode to them and the sacrifices they made for me.”

Visitors feel the same way. “Their house is a true labor of love, apparent the second you enter,” Kanian adds. “It radiates warmth and love.”

Snyder feels it too. “I feel an immense amount of pride when I walk into our house,” he says.

Like a barn raising that brings people together, their house has become a welcome part of the neighborhood with its blue siding, bright yellow front door and a playful mural by Venice artist and skateboarder Sebo Walker. “We’ve had neighbors knock on our door and tell us, ‘We love what you’re doing,’” says Snyder.

“I love color,” Fahmy says. “I love to experiment.”

With the main house finished for now, Fahmy hopes to turn the garage into an accessory dwelling unit, or ADU, in the style of Mexican architect Luis Barragán: bold with color and texture. “I’m envisioning a mini boutique hotel,” she says. “Simple to execute, yet unique in L.A. I’d love a pink building.”

Like the possibility of a pink building — or not — Fahmy’s freewheeling style proves it’s OK to experiment and make mistakes. (She wants to demo the kitchen next for a fresh look.)

“You’re not tattooing your face. You’re painting your walls,” she says as a way to encourage others to experiment. “Your home should be a reflection of who you are. I hope our home inspires others to live how they want to live.”